


dandelion

by kr4k3n



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Reunions, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, bold of you to assume i care about canon, for plot convenience, george living out his cottegecore dreams, set vaguely after dream breaks out of prison, sympathtic dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:27:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kr4k3n/pseuds/kr4k3n
Summary: george takes a break from the rest of the smp after tommy burns down his house. no discs, no drama, no dream.until he gets a visitor.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 222





	1. Chapter 1

George pushes his hair back from his face, sighing. He makes a mental note to cut it soon—it’s grown much too long lately. Blinking, he looks back to the flowers blooming on his windowsill. Lilacs, newly cut from some bushes near his house. His fingernails are black with dirt from spending most of the afternoon transplanting them. 

He looks past the flowers, out the window. The sun is just sinking below the horizon, leaving the sky alight with soft pinks and pale oranges. 

It’s still odd, looking outside and not seeing L’Manberg. Not seeing Tommy and Tubbo running around like they owned the place, or Sapnap in the community house, or Quackity walking by without any clothes. 

On second thought, George isn’t too sad about the last one. 

Since his house was burned down, George wanted to get away. Away from the discs, from Tommy, from all the drama that came with L’Manberg. 

So he left. Packed some of his things, passed through a couple of biomes until he landed on a nice, secluded, forest. Thick with trees and teeming with plants and mobs of all sorts. Most importantly, blocks and blocks away from everyone else on the smp. It was nice living on his own, of course, but it got a little lonely. 

He’d sent Dream the coordinates. And Dream hadn’t visited. 

Yet.

Looking out the window once more, George heads for the stairs. It’s become a sort of a routine—looking out for Dream one last time before he went to sleep. He’s afraid to miss him. 

But it isn’t like he’s desperate or anything. Maybe Dream has more important things to do than visit his best friend.  
George finds himself curling his hands into fists at his sides. He relaxes them. He isn’t upset. In fact, he’s perfectly fine. Better than fine. Content to tend to his flowers and watch the animals and be alone. 

It just wouldn’t hurt to see Dream again. 

Just as George reaches the top of the stairs, he hears, from downstairs, “Hello?”

He freezes. He hasn’t heard that voice in over a month, but he would recognize it anywhere. 

For a moment, he pauses. Then, tentatively, “Dream?”

“George?”

George’s heart leaps, and he turns around blindly, sprinting to the bottom, throwing open the door, and running straight into Dream’s arms. 

His head fits neatly under Dream’s chin—he remembered Dream being a little shorter. But his arms are still the same, steady and warm. He hears Dream chuckle, soft and low and almost relieved. He stays there for a few moments longer. He should probably pull away faster, to make it less awkward. But after a month away from Dream, he couldn’t care less how awkward he makes it. He just wants to feel Dream hug him again. His sweater is warm and soft as he’d remembered. 

He pulls back, looking up at Dream. 

He’s wearing that stupid mask—George hates it. He likes to see Dream’s eyes. No one gets to see Dream’s face but him. Except maybe Sapnap. And his clothes are a little torn up. George wonders if he got into a scrap with a mob on his way here. (Has he been traveling all night?) His mouth is turned up at the corners, but it’s not quite the smile he remembers. Like he hasn’t smiled in a while. Like he’s relearning. 

“Finally,” he huffs, shoving his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t reach out to Dream.

“Sorry,” Dream says, quietly, “I was busy.”

George senses it isn’t a subject to push. “Why don’t you come inside?” He opens the door a little wider. Dream steps over the threshold carefully, following George to the small wooden table in the corner. 

As Dream seats himself at the table, George hurries to heat up the kettle and grabs a few teabags. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he whines, “or I would’ve prepared a bit more.”

“Sorry,” Dream apologizes again. George exhales. There’s no point in getting mad—Dream’s here. That’s what matters.

“So,” George says, watching the water beginning to simmer in the pot, “What’ve I missed?”

A pause. 

“A lot.” George glances back, and Dream’s leaning his head on the wall, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” George asks, carefully. Slowly.

Dream doesn’t respond, just brings a single hand up to rub his mask, where a small crack is growing. It almost glows golden in the light of the small, flickering fire George has going in the fireplace. 

“Why do you still have that stupid thing on, anyways?” George turns around to lean against the counter, gesturing at Dream’s mask. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me.” He gives Dream a small smile, one he hopes is understanding. 

“I don’t like taking it off much, anymore.” Dream drops his hand to the side and frowns a little. 

There’s a moment of silence, and George turns back to his kettle, where the water is just beginning to bubble and steam. He pours it into two cups, plops the teabags into the boiling water, and walks  
them over to the table, wincing as the cups burn his hands. 

Dream takes one cup from his hands and sets it carefully down on the table as George takes a seat. 

“What’ve you been doing out here?” Dream asks. 

“Spent a bit of time building this house. Had another one, but a creeper blew most of it up. Then I took up gardening.”

“George? A gardener?” Dream chuckles, and for a moment he can hear the old Dream. “Who would’ve thought?”

“I’m actually quite good,” George puffs up his chest a little, thankful to finally be falling back into a semblance of their old banter, “I’m growing lilacs on the windowsill now,” he points, “my daisies couldn’t take the last frost.”

He glances back at Dream. There’s a fond smile on his face. George feels an ache inside his chest. He missed this. 

“What about you?” 

Dream’s face drops. “What?”

“Haven’t got into any trouble while I’ve been gone?” George smirks. 

Dream hesitates, clutching his mug until his knuckles turn white. “Not really.” he eventually says. “Things in L’Manberg have been… quiet.”

“Oh,” George says, failing to keep the surprise from his voice. “I’ve been thinking about visiting, y’know.” 

“You’d probably find it boring,” Dream shrugs.

“After a month in isolation? I doubt it,” George scoffs. 

Dream looks down, stirring his mug idly. George takes a sip out of his, welcoming the heat on his tongue. 

“How long do you plan on staying?” George asks, desperate to keep the conversation. 

Dream pauses. “I’m not sure. I just wanted to see you.” 

Something warm blooms in George’s chest. “Ah. Overnight, then? And in the morning I can show you around?” 

“Sounds good,” Dream smiles softly. 

“C’mon, then,” George stands up and heads for the stairs, checking behind him to make sure Dream’s following. He is. 

They reach the top of the stairs, George’s bedroom, before he realizes there’s a problem. 

He grumbles under his breath, checking his inventory. “Dream, do you have any wool?”

There’s a silence as Dream looks. “Nope.”

“I don’t have the materials for another bed,” George pushes his hair back, laughing a little. 

“We could…” Dream trails off.

“Go on,” George encourages him.

“We could just share yours. Like we did when we were kids.” He hurriedly adds; “If you’re okay with that, of course.”

George isn’t used to this. Dream’s being so careful, so tentative, like he’s afraid to break him. The Dream he knows would just take the right side of the bed and be done with it.  
He almost asks. Asks why Dream has been so quiet, so timid, so unlike himself. But then he looks up at the mask, a blank smile, and he doesn’t say anything. Just nods. 

They climb into the single bed a little awkwardly—Dream is so tall that he naturally takes up space. Once the blankets are pulled up to their chins, they both shuffle to turn their backs to each other. 

“G’night,” George mumbles, and as he slips into sleep he misses Dream’s faint response.


	2. Chapter 2

George wakes up to weak sunlight filtering in through the window. He blinks once, sleepily, before registering his surroundings. 

Somehow he and Dream have become completely entangled over the night. One of his legs is sprawled over Dream’s, his arm across his chest—oh god, is he cuddling with Dream?

He gently untangles one hand from Dream’s grasp and suddenly hopes very much that Dream is still asleep. He looks over and bites his lip to stop from gasping. 

Overnight, Dream’s mask had become skewed on his face. Not enough to show most of his features, but enough to expose a sliver of his cheek. An angry red scar slices through smooth skin, looking only half-healed. George can only stare. 

He startles as Dream jolts awake next to him. For a moment there is only stillness as they both flush red. Then Dream tumbles out of bed, adjusting his mask as he does, and George tries desperately not to look too suspicious. 

He sits up in bed as Dream stands awkwardly over him. 

“Breakfast?” George asks, trying to keep the yawn out of his voice. 

Dream nods thankfully, and they head downstairs together. As they walk, whenever George accidentally brushes Dream, he can feel him pull away. 

He wants to scream. Instead, he watches as Dream sits and busies himself at the furnace. 

When did it become so strained? Why can’t Dream look him in the eyes anymore? Why does he flinch away from George’s touch?

And why does Dream have a new scar underneath his mask?

Instead of saying all the questions on his mind, he asks, “Do you want to see my garden?” as he puts the food in to cook. 

“Sure,” Dream nods, and they walk outside together.

George crouches next to a plot where small flowers sprout. He plucks a little yellow one from the dirt and holds it up to Dream, who takes it carefully and twirls it between two fingers. 

“A dandelion,” George smiles. 

“Aren’t these weeds?” Dream makes a face. 

George shrugs. “I dunno. They’re pretty, so I keep them. I have others,” he spreads his hands to the rest of the garden, teeming with purples and yellows and blues, many just opening their leaves for the sunrise. Dream follows his gesture, eyes sweeping across the delicate buds. 

“You’re right. It is pretty. I just…” he hesitates, “never took you for a gardener.”

And I never thought you’d hide things from me, but here we are, “I guess things change.” George avoids eye contact, instead pushing himself up to a standing position. 

“Yeah,” Dream says. “Yeah, I guess they do.”

George opens his mouth to ask something, but he doesn’t know where to start. He has so many questions and Dream has avoided any he’s asked so far. So instead he just takes a step closer, closing the space between them. He sees Dream twitch back but he holds steady. 

George reaches up towards the back of Dream’s head. He feels for the strings tying it in the back and tugs until they fall apart in his hand, then uses both hands to steadily pull the mask away. Dream’s hands are fists at his side, but he doesn’t move or protest. 

George drops the mask to the ground. The scar is much bigger than he’d thought—ripping from his right cheekbone across the bridge of nose—but that’s not what scares him the most.   
Dream’s eyes are tired, lined with dark circles and dull. He remembers when they would sparkle as he would describe his plans for the SMP, as they would lie in the grass and look up at the stars. Dream was so full of hope for the empire he had created. Now, he looks an inch away from death. 

George drops the mask to the ground and it smiles up at him from the daisies. He cups Dream’s face with both hands, Dream flinching as his thumb brushes the edge of the raw scar. 

Voice a near whisper, George asks, “What happened to you?”

Dream stares at him. “I don’t know.”

Fingers almost digging into Dream’s skin, George says a bit louder, “I’m going to need a better answer than that,” he inhales, “You’ve been dodging my questions since you’ve got here.” When Dream doesn’t respond, he speaks again. “Dream, I love you-” the words slip out so effortlessly, words he’s been so careful with for so long, but he couldn’t care less now. Anything to get Dream to talk. “but we can’t keep doing this. Dancing around each other, you acting like I’m breakable. Are you forgetting you crowned me King? Where’s that trust now? That trust in your best friend?” George let's go, stepping back. 

Dream’s breath hitches. For a moment he holds up the careful facade he’s kept throughout the visit, but then George watches as his face crumples and he slumps to the ground, sobbing. 

“Oh god, oh-” Dream is sitting on his dandelions, and George crouches next to him, afraid to touch him. 

“I-” Dream takes a deep breath, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. They’re already turning red and puffy. “I fucked up, George.”

“How bad?”

“Pretty bad.” Dream doesn’t meet his eyes, and that’s how George knows that pretty bad might be an understatement. 

He puts his hand in Dream’s and squeezes, and Dream tells him everything. 

Visiting Tommy in exile, watching as the community house went up in flames, building the room with the discs. 

He got the scar from Tommy. 

When he’s done explaining, Dream doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head to the side and watches the sun creep higher in the sky. 

George sits next to him, guiding Dream’s face gently with a hand so they meet eyes. He reaches with his other hand and, almost absentmindedly, traces the scar, imagining Tommy’s fury as he hit him again and again and again. 

And he knows that Dream has done unforgivable things. He knows that he’s hurt and killed and threatened and burnt precious things. 

But when he looks up at the face he’s holding, he can’t see the tyrant. He only sees Dream, flawed and broken and scarred, but still his Dream. 

He drops his hand and clutches Dream’s, and Dream holds his back, their fingers intertwining in a silent exchange. It says, I forgive you. 

“What the hell are we going to do now?” Dream sighs. 

“Live out here?” George suggests, and he feels Dream tense beside him. 

He gives him a look, and Dream winces. “Sorry I just-” he inhales shakily, “I thought this was going to be the last time I ever saw you. I thought you were going to leave me.”

“I love you,” George says again, simply, and it’s enough explanation. Dream’s face flushes red and his little lopsided grin makes his face look almost normal again. “And I want you to live here. With me.”

Dream doesn’t even consider this time, just nods his head quickly.

George knows they can’t run from this forever. But for now, if he can provide a place for Dream to heal, maybe they could both be okay again. 

He leans into Dream’s chest. It comes to him that they’re probably sitting on half the garden right now, and he’s going to have to replant quite a lot of flowers, and then he realizes he’ll have Dream to   
help. 

He’s put a hand on the ground, steadying himself to stand up and get inside, where the breakfast is most likely burnt to a crisp, when Dream murmurs, “I love you, too.”

George feels warm. Dream’s told George he loves him a million times before, but this time it feels a bit different. A good kind of different. 

He doesn’t need to respond. He doesn’t think Dream even wants a response. Instead, he pulls Dream to his feet. Before they walk inside, Dream pushes George’s hair back and tucks the dandelion he’s been holding on to behind his ear. 

George smiles up at him, and they both tighten their grip on each other’s hand. 

He knows that hand has killed, has hurt, has done horrible, horrible things, but it’s Dreams. And for now, that’s all that matters. 

Dream is all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap on my first dnf fic!! hope you enjoyed, as always comments and kudos are much appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> woooo first dnf fic pog!!
> 
> go visit my tumblr for updates on this fic and maybe others: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thought-criminals
> 
> anyways leave a kudos and maybe comment if you enjoyed and i'll love you forever.


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